


The woods are lovely, dark and deep

by Meridel



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Character Study?, F/F, Hecate-centric, Smidge of Hackle, This idea just wouldn't let go, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 14:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridel/pseuds/Meridel
Summary: Hecate finds her own peace in various forests.





	The woods are lovely, dark and deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassiopeiasara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiopeiasara/gifts).



> For cassiopeiasara on her birthday. I hope you enjoy, my dear. 
> 
> With my apologies to Mr. Frost.

**i**

She is nine. Sprouted like a beanpole seemingly overnight and tripping over herself at every turn. Her robes stop fitting halfway through the year and she hates it, so much so that tries to charm them with spells she’s too young to master in the hope that they’ll last another season. Her grandmother spends all of supper scolding her about her sloppy attempt and she sits silently, shamefaced. She waits for the diatribe to over, knowing if she’d left it alone and appeared at the table with her ankles showing she’d be on the receiving end of a different lecture about how _unpresentable_ and  _inconvenient_ she is. Soon she can get up from the table, away from the smell of her father’s cigar that wanders in from the other room and taste of bitter vegetables that she struggles not to gag on as she listens to her grandmother go on.

She slips out the backdoor, down the garden path and through the iron gate that creaks if she doesn’t shut if exactly right. The wind is cool and it whips across her face, pulling strands free from her plait. The sun is low enough that the forest looks more like a dark cave welcoming her and Hecate sighs with relief at the sight.

She lets the trees envelop her and everything else in the world that’s been hammering at her mind seems far away. Here it’s just her and the forest and nothing else. She bends to wriggle off her shoes and stockings and leaves them by the head of path that winds deeper into the woods. She likes walking barefoot here, feeling the damp earth beneath her toes as she pads along. Hugging herself to stay warm, Hecate climbs the path up a gentle sloping hill. At the top, the trees part and she lies on her back in the long grass, staring up at the night sky. The stars are just starting to come out and she feels better.

 

**ii**

She’s not sure what it is about Year Fours, but somehow her classmates are more immature this year, not less. Or maybe she is because their laughter hurts more today than it ever did before. 

Perhaps because this time it was about Pippa. About her and Pippa and she can’t bring herself to think about why that hurts so much but it does. Pippa doesn’t care. Pippa laughed it off, but for some reason Hecate just can’t.

She’s up at dawn, unable to sleep, still brooding over those silly witches whose opinions she’s firmly resolves not care about. The corridors still echo with their whispers, their giggles at her expense, even though everyone is tucked in their beds. She wants away from it for just one second.

There are not rules forbidding her from being outside the castle this early, only rules that insist she come in before curfew in the evening. Hecate knows the door beside the kitchens will be unlocked, and will take her right outside the far wall and into the forest beyond. She makes her way quickly, anger still flowing in a way that frightens her, in a way she’d like to make go away because she fears the consequences of feeling it entirely. 

The woods here aren’t like the woods she grew up in. They’re older, broader, full of plants Hecate has spent her spare time reading up on until she knows them all as well as she knows a sneezing potion. There is more space between the trees here, more room to exist in. The path that Hecate’s shoes have worn over the last four years is narrow and littered tree roots that erupt from the ground at odd intervals, twisting in and out of the earth as they please.

Eventually she stops and curls up on a bed of moss, thick and spongy enough to easily support her weight. She rests the back of her head on a protruding root that belongs to an ancient oak tree. Cradled in the majestic tree’s roots, her angular body doesn’t seem so out of place. Old trees are Hecate’s favourite. They seem wise to her. Stubborn and proud too, with bent trunks and gnarled branches that bridge the gap between earth and sky. The girls laughing at her fade away, replaced by birdsongs and the gentle sound of the wind in the branches overhead. She watches the sunlight trickle through the boughs that sway back and forth, almost like dancing. A few stray tears leak out the sides of her eyes and fall away, absorbed by the earth, and that’s allowed because here she doesn’t have to be anything for anyone. She’s allowed to just be.

 

**iii**

All good witching academies should have some proper woods on school grounds. Hecate told Pippa that once. A long time ago, when she and Pippa would lie on the lawn outside during their free period, and Hecate would listen as Pippa spun tales of her dream. A witching school, a modern one, without some of the arcane rules they lived by now that separate boys from chanting class and girls from wands. Hecate loved listening to Pippa’s voice, as smooth and soothing as a gentle summer breeze, going on and on about her hopes and plans.

Plans Hecate had hoped might involve her too, but that was another story. One of a heartbreak Hecate has stopped dwelling on by the time she accepts a teaching post at Cackles.

Cackles had a proper wood. Among its reputation, Alma’s leadership, and the castle itself, Hecate likes that, too. Being the potions mistress gives her plenty of excuse to spend her free hours in them, and while cataloguing the sources of various potion ingredients is valuable, so too is her simply being there. She feels the magic that courses through this place and it steadies her. It’s centered on the castle, of course, but in the woods where there are no distractions, no other witches magic to contend with, here is she feels it most acutely. It’s a pleasant feeling. She opens herself to the magic and lets it flow around her freely.

She begins to incorporate long walks into her routine, develops favourite routes and resting places, spending hours of her time off in peaceful silence. A few members of staff question her about it at first, but Hecate’s clipped answers make it clear that it’s not something she’s open to sharing and the subject is quickly dropped. She’s grateful that they do, that Alma simply smiles at her and nobody pries. They let her keep her secrets. She lets the woods keep hers.

 

**iv**

Hecate knows someone is there. She doesn’t even need to open her eyes to be certain because something around her has shifted very slightly. She’s not alone.

This is supposed to be her place. Sunday mornings are her half day to do with what she pleases and what pleases Hecate most is a long purposeful walk through the wood until her legs tire and her feet are sore, followed by a rest in one of her favourite spots. There is small stream that cuts through the ridgeline and Hecate likes to sit here, leaning back against a sturdy pine tree and listening the water flow. The stream is always changing and yet always the same.

Hecate blinks her eyes open and spots Ada standing several yards away, looking as surprised to see Hecate as Hecate is to see her. 

“I…I didn’t mean to disturb you, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate blinks expectantly, awaiting more of an explanation. They are far from the castle and presumably Ada has sought her out for some purpose. When no explanation is given she ventures, “How did you find me?” 

Ada looks more confused than ever. “I don’t know, exactly. I just…I needed some air so I went for a walk and I found myself here. I don’t…I don’t even know where here is.”   

She looks a little lost, something Hecate is unaccustomed to seeing in Ada Cackle, who is usually so sure and steady. Hecate frowns deeper, unsure of what is happening. She still doesn’t know how Ada found her, though something locked away inside her might have an inkling.

“I’m sorry,” Ada says finally. Sadly, Hecate thinks. “I’ll leave you be.”

As she turns to leave, something inside Hecate jerks, jarringly. “Miss Cackle,” she calls, standing in a flurry of motion that sends dried leaves and pine needles scattering in all directions.

Ada turns back, eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Would,” Hecate clears her throat awkwardly. “Would you like to sit for a moment?”

Ada considers for a moment before nodding gratefully. With some strange formality that doesn’t belong here, they both sit. The stream gives them something to stare at other than each other and they sit in silence.

“Mother is retiring at the end of the winter term,” Ada says quietly. 

“Congratulations,” offers Hecate. Surely that is the right thing to say, but Ada’s smile is tight and forced, so perhaps not.

“Thank you.” They lapse into another silence again.

“Will you stay?”

Hecate’s head jerks around in surprise.

“I know Alma was part of the reason you took the job,” Ada explains. “I’ve been wondering if you wouldn’t want to stay once I am headmistress. I know you think me rather too soft on the girls and I…I wasn’t sure.”

Hecate considers Ada, and where this strange, insecure request has sprung from. She does think Ada is soft on the girls, but she doesn’t judge her for it the way Ada thinks she does.

“I do admire Alma, you’re correct on that score,” Hecate tells her, “And, albeit differently, I admire you, Ada Cackle. I’m sure you will make a fine headmistress. And I hope I’m to remain at Cackles to see it.”

Ada smiles, swallows hard. “Thank you, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Hecate,” Hecate offers and it’s like a gift. First her company, now her name. Ada can’t help but be touched.

“Thank you, Hecate.”

 

**v**

Surrounded by so many people as Hecate is, so often overwhelmed by their chatter, their needs, and their demands of her, it’s easy to overlook how lonely she feels. Not that she’s unused to that, it’s just strange that it happens here, where she never seems to be left alone.

There is one person whose company doesn’t tire her. Hecate finds herself seeking Ada out more and more, so much so that she worries she’s becoming a bother.

As if Ada senses Hecate’s struggle, she asks her at supper. “Would you like to take a walk with me tonight?”

“Did you have anywhere in mind?” 

“Why don’t you choose for us?”

Hecate gives a tiny smile and ducks her head in agreement.

Later that evening, she and Ada take Hecate’s favourite route winding around the mountain to a small lookout. The last few hundred meters of the path is more a collection of mismatched rocks than a path and Hecate offers Ada her hand to steady her. Ada accepts it gratefully and once they’ve arrived at their destination neither witch has seen fit to let go.

The clasp each other's hands and stare out at the rising moon. Ada has always been beautiful to Hecate, but there is something about the moonlight reflecting on her silver hair and the look in her eyes that makes Hecate sure of her own heart.

Ada squeezes Hecate’s hand. She’s sure too.

 

**vi**

Holding their marriage ceremony in the woods had been Ada’s idea, but Hecate knows it’s for her benefit. The reception is a necessary evil, a great number of witches and wizards descending upon Cackles for food and drink and speeches and _dancing._ That is for the rest of them, but this, this is just for them. 

Hecate prepares the gathering, as carefully as any great spell or ceremony she’d ever done. This is supposed to be her gift to Ada, while Ada manages the preparations for the reception, but it’s more of a gift to herself instead. Inscribing runes in the stone archway may be a physical task, but it’s also a peaceful way to spend a nerve-wracking day. Hecate pours all of her energy into it, making sure every line and curve is perfect.

When she’s finished, Hecate mutters an incantation and passes her hands over the entire arch. Her magic and that of the forest and of the stones swirl together, frothing with intensity before settling out, smooth as glass over the clearing. It’s not truly a spell, for spells are precise and specific, while this is not. This is more of a blessing.

Tonight, when the pair of them recite their vows and the moonlight trickles down on them through the trees, the runes will illuminate, bright and dazzling. And Hecate will realize how unintentionally powerful she’d made their blessing. There was more here at Cackles supporting her than she’d realized. 

But Ada knows. Ada always knows. And she’ll beam with delight before giving Hecate a gentle squeeze and kissing the shocked look off her new wife’s face.  

 

**vii**

Most of Ada and Hecate’s walks are limited to around the outer walls of the castle or through the courtyards. The longer ones deep into the forest are still Hecate’s alone and that suits them. But once in the blue moon – especially during a blue moon – Hecate will interrupt their evenings beside the fireplace with an unspoken request. With pleading dark eyes and a half smile on her lips, Ada could never resist her.

The stream is still Hecate’s favourite place, where Ada first found her that day so many years ago. She can walk the path in the pitch darkness without the need of a light, but she levitates a small lantern in front of them for Ada benefit.

When the reach the now familiar spot, Ada conjures up a blanket to sit on. Hecate carefully removes her shoes, her stockings, and steps gingerly into the water. The first time Ada had spent the entire time worried that she’d fall, but she’s learned now that it’s a waste of energy. Instead she watches as Hecate stands in the stream, delighting in how free she seems. How uninhibited. Sometimes Ada joins her, if it’s warm enough and she feels like it, while other times she just watches. 

When Hecate has finished with her wading, she climbs out onto the bank and lays her head in Ada’s lap. Like so many nights before Ada unpins her hair and combs it through with her fingers, massaging Hecate’s scalp with gentle, even pressure.

Hecate breathes in. And out.

And it’s better.


End file.
